Текст книги "Only Tonight"
Автор книги: Elizabeth Miller
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 9 страниц)
I need to know the answer to that. It’s what I’ve been searching for over the last two years. I want the answer to be no, but I’m afraid it’s yes. And if it is, I deserve to remain in my self-imposed exile with limited connection to life.
I can be nobody or maybe somebody, but unless I figure it out for myself I won’t be anybody.
“Oh, Faith.” He’s taken the steps toward me so he can cradle my face in his hands, more compassion than I deserve shining in his eyes. “You’re taking on his burden when it’s buried with him. If I could pull the stars from the sky for you, I would. But even if I did, you wouldn’t know what to do with them. Stop hiding behind the bar in the middle of nowhere and engage in your life. Don’t drown in his.”
My heart clenches. If only it were that simple. Leaning my forehead against his, I say, “This is my life.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
I fist his hair, pulling until it must sting. “What do you want from me?”
His smirk is back, the playful, devilish lift to the corner of his mouth that has my insides quivering like Jell-O. “I want more than just this minute; more than tonight. I want to break down your walls and all of your rules.”
We both groan when he rocks the growing length of his erection into me. “You're making me think and feel. I don't want to care about you, and what happens to your tomorrows.”
“Too late, Angel. I found a way to sneak inside your forever.” Tipping my chin back, he finds my eyes. “Someone I have a lot of respect for once told me I’d find my way to the right fit. I believe it. Now that I found you, we’ll find a way to be together. It might not be tomorrow or next week, but we can figure it out.”
This man. As crazy as the hair on his head, he’s given me more hope in one night than I’ve felt in years.
“I’m not on the pill.” I blast it like someone just hit a car horn accidentally. Subtle, Faith, real subtle.
He shrugs and sweeps my legs out from under me so I have to grip his neck out of self-preservation. Holding me in a vice-grip next to his chest, he says, “Everything happens for a reason. We’ll have to wait and see where life takes us. In the meantime, I’m taking you to bed.”
Chapter Eight
Kyle
“I’m going to take my time with you,” I say, tossing her on the bed. The robe she put on loosens, exposing her full breasts, her nipples tight and long, waiting for my mouth. Closing my eyes, I try to slow my thoughts that are racing ahead of me. I’m not feeling refined, more like wild with a side of out-of-control. I want to lick and taste every part of her, eat her like a meal and then have a buffet for dessert. I want her in my mouth, wrapped around my dick, and I want to fuck her until she’s screaming my name so loud it becomes a part of her.
I drop my pants and kneel on the mattress. On my hands and knees, I stalk my way over her until we’re mouth to mouth.
“Eyes on mine,” I say, to draw her gaze away from my cock that’s bumping into her clit. The frantic sway of her gaze follows every line of my chest before taking hold. “We’re not sleeping, Angel. I have five hours to show you my sweet side and then the wicked one, and if there’s enough time, I’ll let you make me come with your mouth.”
I laugh at her rounded eyes and then gasp when she takes me by the balls.
“I’ve no desire to sleep, Cowboy. And let’s be clear—when I want you in my mouth, I’ll have you there.”
I lick her lips and then bite them. Sweet baby Jesus, this girl has most definitely found her way into my future. Somehow we’ll make it work. “First thing’s first: I need a little taste before we really get started.”
I touch every part of her smooth skin. Her muscles tighten under the pressure of my mouth, and I can feel the hum of energy under her skin. She’s alive and feeling every part of me as I suck on the pulse points in her neck, between her breasts, in the hollow of her elbow and then her wrist. My eyes find hers when I sink into her flesh and take in the sounds of her gasp before licking the sting away. I save the best for last, kneeling between her legs to lift her ankle to my mouth and spreading her other leg wide so I can see all of her.
Having Faith is a beautiful experience. Having her in my mouth is another one altogether. When I kiss my way up her leg, stopping on the pounding beat of her femoral artery, hidden in the crease of her thigh, I look up through my lashes. I’ve had many women, but none were like Faith. She’s not looked away once, watching every move I make, so she can see it and feel it. It makes everything that much more intimate. This isn’t something I’m doing to someone; I’m making love to her. That’s what this is.
“I like you watching me,” I say and then lick the wet slide of her skin. Smiling as she gasps, I spread her open with one hand and my arm wraps under and over her hip, to hold her down with the other.
Her voice is a breathless whisper when she says, “I like watching you touch me.”
She’s propped up on her elbows, a good vantage point to see my head dip down to take her into my mouth for the first time. I’d laugh if I had it in me, when she falls back on an “Oh God” groan and grabs the comforter on either side of her hips, but I can’t. I lose myself in her heat and her sweetness, sucking on her clit and then licking up one side and then the other before I fuck her with my tongue.
“Kyle,” she moans my name, and it sends me into a new kind of wild. That and the incomprehensible sounds she beats out in time with each thrust. I shift, pressing her thighs farther apart with my shoulders so I can sink two fingers inside her. She’s so wet, the slide is easy, and it brings about the roll of her hips up and into my mouth. Fuck me. That’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s lost in the freedom to take what she wants to get off, to let go with me between her legs. I fucking love it and I go at her clit, flicking it, rubbing the flat length of my tongue over it again and again.
I watch as her hands leave the sheets to dive into my hair. Holding me against her, she grinds her pussy into my mouth so I have nowhere to go but suck her in.
“Don’t stop, please . . .” Her eyes are back on mine. “Please. I’m . . . I’m . . . so close.” Her breath is coming in panting waves, her perfect breasts rising and falling with each gasp.
I suck her clit so hard my mouth hollows out, and I have to hold her to the mattress when she bucks up. Sinking my teeth around it, I flick her with my tongue. She cries out loud enough to wake the neighbors and when she adds my name, fucking screams it while clutching my head to her pussy, I almost lose my load into the white thread count. Christ, this girl calls to me on an elemental level to fuck her bare. I want to expose her feelings so she’s raw to them, make her feel me, and the life going on around her.
I don’t let go. I take in the flush of her first orgasm, lapping it up and then go at her one more time. Why not repeat perfection? Because that’s what this is. I’m greedy now for all things Faith. I take in her wild and let lose on my own. We move together and this time she tightens into me, a beautiful rigid arch from the bed as her body shudders under the steady pull of my mouth.
She has to beg me to let go. I can’t get enough. It’s only on her second “Please, Kyle” that I loosen my hold on her clit, kissing it once before sinking my teeth into her inner thigh. I like the thought of leaving my mark. Much like the tattoo not too far away. I want everyone to know this woman is mine.
She arches from the bed again as my teeth sink in and my name eases from her, not as loud this time, but with just as much meaning. I make my way past her hipbone, stopping long enough to read her tat out loud. “Until next time.”
I arch my eyebrow in question, and even through the haze of her orgasm, which I know by her dilated pupils and funny lift of her lips is still pulsing through her blood, she answers, “My mom died when I was eighteen. Before she closed her eyes she said until next time.” She shrugs, and my heart tightens for the pain I know she feels. “When I left the hospital, it was the first thing I did. I didn’t want to forget.”
“You wouldn’t have anyway.”
She smiles, looking down at me with my chin resting on the words that really live in her heart.
“No. I’ll remember them and who they’re about forever.”
Faith
“Let me see some more of this sweet side, Cowboy. I kinda like it,” I say, and wait for him to dip below the mattress for his jeans. He’s got the condom on in a heartbeat and my legs wrap around his waist to hold him to me. I’ve never felt as close to someone as I do with Kyle at this moment. Call it weird, which I know it is, call it foolish, and it might just be, but it is what it is. He’s easy to open up to.
In one night he’s broken through barriers I fought hard to construct, simplifying what I thought was the most complicated life struggle. I don’t have to pay for the misdeeds of others, James included. He did what he did. I’ll always second-guess myself and if I let them, the what-ifs will come knocking at my door, but I’d like to try and leave them alone. To move forward instead of worrying about what I should have done differently.
I’ve had sex plenty of times before, with plenty of men, but never have I felt the complete abandon I have with Kyle. When he slides into me, our eyes lock together, and he takes in my breath, hovering over my open mouth to take me in again and again. My hips meet his in slow motion. How he can control himself, I have no idea. He has to be painfully hard, allowing me to climax twice, setting his needs aside. Now, buried deep within me, he grinds down so I feel every blessed inch of him.
His name falls so easily from my lips, a whispered shadow in the darkened room. Dipping his head, he takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking on it. Not to draw pleasure from pain, as I’ve found he’s so good at doing, but an easy pull to draw out a sweet pulse that I feel not just in my breast, but between my legs as well.
Burying his head in the crook of my shoulder, he trades between his own hushed moans to sharing sweetness in my ear. So beautiful, want you to feel everything, do you feel that?
It is beautiful. Everything about this night with him is beyond anything I ever thought would happen. And I do feel every brush of his chest against mine, his warm breath as it rushes my skin, calling each nerve to attention. Each of his heartbeats is intensified, and his pounding pulse has a direct line to mine. It seems they need to thrum together.
But more than that, I feel the need to keep him next to me, to have more moments like this one. To let him in, give him more of me, maybe even everything, so there’s a possibility of sweet phone calls in the heart of midnight, of naughty text messages in the light of day, of dinners for two and maybe, just maybe, holiday vacations and long weekends somewhere other than the beach.
“So good, Angel. You feel so good wrapped around me,” he breathes it into my mouth just before licking and claiming me with a long kiss. His tongue mimics the rock and sway of his hips, deep, deeper still with each push forward. I take in every sound he makes, and suck on his lips, and then the rough bristle of his chin and down his neck, savoring the sweet sheen of sweat that coats his chest, making it slide onto mine.
Straightening his arms, Kyle looks down, into my eyes and then along every line of my chest as it rises and falls beneath him. So perfect for me, he says but no sound comes with the words. His muscles flex with the now long glide of his hips. Moving in and out, his pace picks up and he throws his head back on a groan.
“Fuck, Faith, I need you to come with me.” Gripping my legs, he brings them up, so they’re bent at the knee leaving me wide open to welcome him in some unknown and raw place. He’s hitting the heart of me, literally and figuratively. He found me and is making me feel everything.
“Kyle.” His name is a benediction falling from my tongue.
He growls rough and jagged. What should have been sweet sends a flood of heat between my thighs to greet him as he enters me. He groans along with the slide. Mine, so good, so fucking tight and hot become a drumbeat to climb, along with the pounding rhythm of his hips as they snap into mine. And when I’m stretched so thin, ready to break into a million pieces, I bite his shoulder so he will feel every ounce of pleasure I can give him. Raking my nails down his back, I sink them into the flexed muscles of his ass.
Shattering under his falling weight, I scream his name and let go of everything but him.
In The Morning Light
Faith
As soon as conscious thought is recognized through the haze of sleep, I know Kyle’s gone. I swallow the lump in my throat his absence brings. If not for the tempting ache in every muscle, at rest or in a stretch, I would think I’d dreamt the amazing night we shared.
He kept his promise. I giggle because his kind of wicked is really something. Something I want to experience again. And again.
I keep my eyes closed because I can see him behind my lids—his smirk, the sheer delight of his eyes—and the lump grows bigger. How is it he could infiltrate my heart so quickly and with a thoroughness that leaves little room for anything more than him?
I roll over, smothering myself in his scent. Will I ever wash these sheets? Not until he gets his ass back here, that’s for sure. I open my eyes, knowing that I’ll have to change them and that when it happens he’ll be a little further away than he is right now.
Blinking the sun out of my eyes, I stare at the pillow we shared. My breath stumbles and my heart goes with it when I see what he’s left for me. His St. Christopher medallion is peeking out of his shirt, the gray tee that was stretched so tight across his chest just last night. My phone lies in the folds.
Picking up all three items, I have his shirt and the medallion over my head in seconds, and then I’m checking my messages. One text is waiting.
Faith—it’s hard to leave you with words, when I didn’t want to leave you at all. So I’ve left you with a few pieces of me. My shirt because I stole your underwear—it seemed only fair. St. Christopher, because Gramps would want you to have it, and I do too. I need you to be safe. He’ll watch over you until I can do it for him. And then there’s my heart. Hold it in safe keeping until next time—Kyle.
P.S. You have my number, now use it
The End
°
Thank you for taking the time to read Only Tonight! If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends about it or leaving a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and is much appreciated.
–EM
Look for these titles by Elizabeth Miller:
The McKenna Chronicles
Book I, Midnight
Book II, Midnight Sky
AUTHOR ELIZABETH MILLER resides in Rochester, MI with her very sarcastic husband and two young boys. In 2013 she decided to flex her writing muscles and began her debut novel: Midnight. Published in 2014, she continues writing the McKenna Chronicles with the third installment due for release in early 2016. Elizabeth loves to chat with readers.
Contact Elizabeth – [email protected]
**Follow Elizabeth on Facebook at:
https://www.facebook.com/midnightelizabethmiller?ref=hl
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https://twitter.com/EMillerMidnight
Turn the page for a sneak peak at Midnight by Elizabeth Miller
Preface
My eyes flutter open to focus on the outline of a man sitting in a chair next to my bed, his ankle crossed over his knee. Strangely I’m not afraid. Reaching to the lamp on the bedside table I flick the switch, throwing a gentle glow over the unfamiliar room.
The man is striking; my heart skips a beat at his beauty and the intensity of his stare. I’ve never seen eyes quite like these, blue pooling to depths deeper than the ocean with a small sliver of brandy spiking out of the center of the left one. His forefinger and thumb rub and pull his full bottom lip absently and I wait for him to break the silence, watching him watch me.
Finally he says, “I have waited a long time to meet a woman who can stir any emotion in my dead heart. It’s been so long; I didn’t think it was possible to feel,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “anything.”
Planting both feet on the floor, he leans down to rest his arms on his knees. His look is contemplative, eyes deepening to the color of stormy seas, gray clouds intermingling with lightning. I can’t stop staring, my heart thumping dangerously as he moves toward the bed, leaning in to press his lips against mine. An instant, staggering jolt reverberates throughout my body from his touch. He hesitates at my reaction, as if testing his own.
I sink back into the pillow and he follows. The heat of his mouth on mine is an elixir, the remedy I have unconsciously been seeking. A low moan rumbles in his chest as the weight of his knee sinks down into the mattress. Dropping to his elbows, he rests them on either side of my shoulders, his body becoming a frame hovering in a protective yet possessive arch over mine.
An overwhelming peace, a sense of completion, hangs heavy in the air, fueling the need to consume, to drink in his offering. My mouth parts instinctively when his tongue glances over my bottom lip, our breath mixing together into an intoxicating combination. I can’t think; his heady scent shatters my thoughts with his enticing proximity. His mouth grows hungrier, restless in its assault, his tongue dueling, playing with mine. The force of energy pulsing between us is unexpected, an entity in and of itself. My breath is coming in short bursts when he pauses lifting his lips from mine, blue eyes imploring me to stop him. I’m drawn to him on a level I don’t understand. I want him, I need him. Unhindered, I wrap my arms around his neck in response to the silent question and his mouth molds sensually to the full line of my lips.
Waking with a start, my eyelids snap open. I pant into the darkened room, my pulse pounding. “Just a dream,” the soft words stir the air. Feeling the flush rise slow and hot on my cheeks, I stare into the darkness, concentrating on slowing my ragged breathing. After untold moments I pull the covers to my chin, trying to find sleep once more and a dream that will never be reality.
ONE
MY HEART BEATS double time as I slam on the brakes of my 1998 Chevy Blazer, swerving into the lane next to me on the I-114, barely missing the Volvo that cut me off without warning. One hundred and fifteen people die in traffic accidents every day in the United States, and I have no intention of becoming a member of that statistic. Glaring at the woman in the car who apparently isn’t concerned about her or anyone else’s safety, I slow my speed.
I’m going to be late. I hadn’t planned on the Detroit-through-Toledo-morning-rush-hour traffic as I traveled en route to Indiana and the University of Notre Dame. To be fair, I didn’t have much time to plan the trip in the first place.
A late call last evening from Sonja Bates, an editor I work with occasionally, convinced me to travel the three hundred plus miles to the university. Today I'll witness Senator Colin McKenna formally announce his bid on the Republican nomination for the upcoming presidential election. Senator McKenna is interested in hiring a journalist to begin a social media campaign to engage the younger voting population in the election and him. Sonja is connected in some way to Evan Daugherty, McKenna’s campaign manager, and she referred him to me. Why he’s interested in discussing this assignment with me is a mystery given my limited qualifications. However, she was very adamant, in fact downright insistent, so here I am.
Politics is not my strong suit; in fact, I hold a high level of disdain for it, and maybe more so for politicians. My simple philosophy categorizes the whole system just above the criminal clientele inhabiting the State penitentiary. Politicians are pompous asses in three-piece very-expensive suits. They may hold the appearance of kindness and concern, yet behind the façade they plunder the pockets of Americans, spending taxpayer money as if it grows on the trees surrounding their manicured, million-dollar mansions.
The irony that I’ve been asked to meet McKenna and Evan Daugherty about this assignment is not lost on me. I know very little about him or any of the other presidential hopefuls. The lateness of the assignment didn’t allow for any investigation, and given my belief in the American political system, I have very little knowledge of the platforms on which he professes support. My parents have spoken about him, but not in great detail, only mentioning that he’s a popular Indiana Senator whom many have high hopes for in the upcoming presidential race. That’s the limited amount of information I know about McKenna. Oh, and he graduated from Notre Dame, hence his use of their conference center to deliver his speech.
The late call has left me feeling unprepared for the interview, although, I’m not sure of my interest in the opportunity anyway. The thought of following the progress of the campaign and a boring candidate for months is rather depressing, but desperation outweighs all of these concerns. I'm here because my freelance work dried up and I'm living off of my savings.
The University of Notre Dame campus is awe-inspiring; unfortunately I don’t have time to appreciate the history or the architecture, given the late hour. Sliding from the Blazer at just past two in the afternoon, I hurry through the parking lot with only a few minutes left to freshen up after the long ride. The sun peaks through the darkening clouds on this mid-winter day and I burrow down into my scarf. The wind is bitter and inescapable, an instant chill creeping to the bone. Quickening my pace, I run into the building to flee from the blast of cold air, gripping my impractical black velvet pea coat around my neck.
Once inside, I deposit my things at the coat check, searching the lobby for a restroom. An assessment in the mirror confirms my wild auburn waves survived the long ride in the loose bun piled on top of my head, with a few escaped tendrils floating around my face. Running the tip of a mascara wand over my lashes to frame my almond-shaped green eyes, I finish with a sweep of lip-gloss to brighten my pale winter-washed face. I’m relieved the fitted white button-up shirt and black pencil skirt I chose this morning are relatively unwrinkled.
It’s not hard to figure out which direction the conference center is located within the confines of the Morris Inn. I’m herded with a throng of people to the entrance. Obvious excitement peppers the air. Men and women of all ages and races flock together, heads bobbing above the crowd to peek in the conference room. A steady thrum of intermingled voices set the tone, some louder than others. I wait in line at the auditorium doors with an overly gregarious, plump man who eyes me up from head to toe. I'm definitely not interested, so I turn away from his shining eyes and grab my media credentials from my purse.
It’s my turn at the front. An attendant with beautiful light brown skin grins and flashes his eyes along my shirt before asking, “Name?”
“Charlise Carter,” I say, ignoring his wink and handing him my I.D.
After a quick look at my card and cross-checking the list, I’m motioned into the large room. At the far end is an elevated stage, an unusual U-shaped configuration of tables for members of the media just in front of it. Behind this area are rows of seats for the general public which are filling quickly to capacity. With two levels, the conference center must hold almost four hundred people.
Reaching the media section, I stand aside for others to take a seat, choosing a chair in the third row on the very edge of the assembly, relatively hidden by the excited reporters vying for the best position. A pretty brunette woman sits next to me, preparing a portable mini recorder on the table in front of her, along with a binder for written notes. I watch, fascinated, as she meticulously reapplies her make-up and ensures every strand of hair is perfectly in place.
I’ve set up my iPad to record the press conference, angling it toward the stage. It can’t hurt to tape the event, just in case I’m offered the position and agree to chronicle the campaign.
The crowd calms when a short, balding man appears, walking to stand behind a podium. Holding up his right hand to bring the last bit of conversation to a close, he begins to speak when the room falls to silence.
“Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming today. It's with great pleasure I introduce you to a gentleman I had the good fortune to teach not long ago at this very university. His goals and ambitions were clear even then; his drive to succeed unwavering. It's with that same passion he pursues his next endeavor. He is a man of great moral and ethical principles. Embodying honesty and sincere candor, he will lead this country into the next decade with a direct connection to the needs and desires of the people. Senator Colin McKenna.”
The applause is thunderous, anticipation rolling off of the crowd in waves. Who is so awe-inspiring he creates this type of electricity in the room?
Clapping politely I watch a man walk onto the platform, shrouded at first by the shadows at the edge of the stage. The rest of the crowd erupts into louder, riotous applause at his appearance. Hoots and whistles follow him as he makes his way to the forefront. This is the reception of a popular musician, not a politician.
My hands still midair, breathing forgotten. I’m struck by the visage appearing before me. Colin McKenna is a mirror of the man from my implausible dream. Heat flushes my cheeks at the flashback of his lips on mine. I’m in a trance, a moth caught in a spider’s web without the ability to escape. He's absolutely gorgeous. Tall and solidly built, confident and assured with a strong gait. A large screen hangs behind him, projecting his elegant face large enough for those in the very back to see every brilliant nuance.
My heart skips a beat, suspended in time, and then it begins to thrum faster than normal. He is in a three-piece expensive suit; however, he doesn’t look like any politician I’ve ever seen before. He's young, really young for a presidential candidate. Aren’t they supposed to be at least sixty? Isn’t that a pre-requisite for the job? His face is sculpted with a squared chin, holding the slightest indent to soften the center. When he smiles, dimples appear next to his glorious stretch of perfect, white teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly when he grins, bringing together rows of dark lashes that coat and highlight his bright blue eyes. Thick dark-brown hair with hints of caramel running through the gentle waves are perfectly placed at the crown of his head, smoothed back into a short and neat cut. For a moment I imagine running my hands through his hair, gripping it between my fingers, causing it to fall in disarray on his brow. Heat flairs into flames as the unbidden image flourishes, a clear picture illustrated perfectly in my mind’s eye. Desperate to refocus I stare at the podium, staring at the university’s symbol embellished on the front—staring anywhere but at Colin McKenna.
It’s only a moment before my gaze is drawn back. Unable to remain impassive, I’m captivated, bewitched by him.
The noise of the crowd has yet to die down; he gives a slight bow of his head, as if embarrassed by the attention. Lifting his hands in the air, he gently gestures for the applause to quiet and a hush falls across the room.
His voice has a low, soothing timbre, “Today I stand before you with our future and the health of our nation lying ahead of us. I have heard the cry for change in Washington, heard the hope that this election will be different than all that came before it. Together, and with my leadership, your desire for a brighter future is within our grasp.”
I find myself waiting, holding my breath as he speaks. Surely this man, albeit a very attractive man, shouldn’t have this effect on me.
Many others attentively watch, some with dumbstruck grins and others simply gaping. Camera flashes spark, creating the appearance of waves moving through the crowd.
In this moment, reality roars back and I realize I’ve forgotten to turn on the recorder. Fumbling, I do so, knowing I must have missed the first few minutes of his speech. Straightening my back, I muster a good amount of poise, lifting my eyes to the Senator just at the moment he confirms everyone’s anticipated suspicions.
“I've made it my life’s mission to care for this country and those that call it their home,” he says, squaring his shoulders. “As I continue on with pursuit of this dream, it's time I seek the most absolute position in which I can lead with integrity, pride and passion. I will not let you down; I will not let this country down. I will bring the United States of America into the next decade stronger than it has ever been.” The crowd erupts and once again I feel as if I’m at a concert, suspecting an overly hormonal teenager will throw her bra on stage.
When the cheering calms he continues, sharing his key initiatives, should he be elected president.
After a few more minutes it’s over. He graciously thanks everyone for coming and opens the conversation up to the members of the media sitting before him. I’m struck again by his stunning good looks and his brilliant smile. Very simply: he is dazzling.
I spend a few more minutes lost in thought, just staring at him. McKenna has begun addressing the small group of reporters; he appears at ease answering questions. He's quizzed about his beliefs, what he would do in the first year of office and so on. I’m once again thankful for the iPad recording all of the events, because I’m having trouble concentrating on the dialogue going back and forth. Questions are thrown out quickly and he responds swiftly. There's no need for him to think; his responses are strong and heartfelt. The passion he has for the betterment of the country is easily apparent. It’s only when I catch the tail end of a question that I sit taller in my seat, my attention piqued.
